


Dreamed Into Obsession

by Russian_Faerie



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 07:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15359328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Russian_Faerie/pseuds/Russian_Faerie
Summary: Prokopenko's short monologue of being remade through Kavinsky's dreams, and the obsession that follows.





	Dreamed Into Obsession

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a musically of someone cosplaying Prokopenko with a K tattoo on their neck with a sad song in the background. Literally just me trying to get my writing juices flowing again.

Prokopenko could have ignored it when Lynch was just an add on to their group; an occasional leech to party with. He was fine with sharing Kavinsky’s attention, hell back then he hardly cared enough about Kavinsky to have any semblance of jealousy towards Lynch’s monopoly over him. But that was when he had first joined the Pack, back when he didn’t fully understand the obsession that Joseph Kavinsky inspired. But how could he have known, not any of the other pack members displayed the type of feverish reverence that Prokopenko now held for Kavinsky.

              Prokopenko remembered the night that his feelings towards Kavinksy’s intensified, or rather he remembered the result of the night. He remembered waking up: Kavinsky’s bare around wound around his back, his lungs gasping in the pillow that he lay on, no memories past earlier than that and that Kavinsky’s obsession with himself had somehow mirrored and instilled itself within Prokopenko. And Kavinsky seemed to have gained a certain amount of regard for Prokopenko. While it held no light to the flame that was Prokopenko’s regard to Kavinsky, Prokopenko didn’t complain. This was more than he could have hoped for.

              Now, as they lay down in Kavinsky’s bed, his bare arm once again tossed across Prokopenko’s back. In the silence of the usually loud Aglionby dorm, Kavinsky said,

“When we’re in private, call me K.”

              That’s when Prokopenko’s jealousy began. Because just yesterday, from across the gap between Lynch’s charcoal BMW and Kavinsky’s white Mitsubishi, during the seconds between a red and green light, Lynch had thrown some insult and introduced Kavinsky’s new nickname.

              K.

              Prokopenko hadn’t thought anything of it then, but now he wasn’t so sure. He began to call Kavinsky ‘K’ in between fanatical partying and frenzied sex. And the requests grew in numbers and in sacrifice. It grew to the point where Prokopenko started striving to be like Lynch. He shortened his hair, started drinking the brand of beer Lynch consumed and got a tattoo. Granted, the tattoo wasn’t as extravagant or intimidating as Lynch’s but when Kavinsky first noticed, the responding possessiveness lasted a while. So long in fact, that there was almost a permanent hickey covering the K tattoo he had got on his neck.

              But then Lynch withdrew from Kavinsky and befriended Dick and white trash Parrish. With this, Kavinsky’s obsession grew and Prokopenko’s desperation followed suit. He tried everything to change. But he just couldn’t, he could never be like Lynch. If Prokopenko could never be like him then what was the point. Kavinsky would never care for him like he cared for Lynch and that was that. So, during the last few lucid moments after Kavinsky’s death, Prokopenko couldn’t help that hope that that bone deep, binding connection he had with Kavinsky would diminish and he would be free. But then he fell asleep and never woke again.

 


End file.
